


So Tell Me Now

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3508115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Porthos and Aramis weren't perfect - but were still perfect for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Tell Me Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jlarinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jlarinda/gifts).



> I set out to write some 2x08 fic and instead I wrote this fluffy monstrosity. This is just unrelenting fluff and schmoop - that's all it is. Nothing too exciting beyond just that, this was meant to be written quickly and in the end I could have done more with it. But then, when it's just silly schmoop it doesn't need too much detail, right? The first section is based off a tumblr post I've long since lost, and the rest of the sections were prompted by JL, whom this fic is dedicated to because she's had a stressful last few week so... have some stupid boyfriends.

**I.**  
“I just don’t see why you can’t accept that you’re adorable,” Aramis resumes after about an hour of silence on the matter. It’s not the first time he’s picked up on a conversation that’s lapsed earlier in the day. And it’ll likely not be his last.

In this case, it’s a conversation they’ve been having for five years, well before they ever officially started dating. 

Porthos scoffs, loudly, and gives him an incredulous look. Aramis seems perfectly content where he is between Porthos’ thighs, fingering him open with a practiced ease and lifting his eyebrows in silent question. Porthos is about to protest but then Aramis twists his fingers, just as he always does, and Porthos groans and rocks his hips up a little. 

“I’m not,” Porthos finally manages to say around Aramis’ devilishly scissoring fingers, just as he always does. 

“Oh, you are,” Aramis sighs out, ever the dramatic fool, and then squirms his way up Porthos’ body, pulling his fingers out from inside him and settling down against him, rocking his hips forward so his cock slides against the hollow of his hip. Porthos bites his lip to swallow down the small moan he wants to make at that and ruts back against him. 

“At least say I’m handsome – or hot, for fuck’s sake,” Porthos mutters and, as always, starts to blush because Aramis is a menace and a fiend and he _knows it._ Aramis’ grin is downright triumphant as he rolls his hips a little and positions himself against Porthos. His hands stroke over his hips and Porthos spreads his legs for him and lets Aramis sink down against him.

They kiss and Porthos can taste his smile against his mouth, the soft exhale of their breath as he adjusts to Aramis above him. He curls his arms around him, tugs him down so they’re chest to chest, and rocks his hips a little to encourage Aramis’ movement. 

“You’re pretty,” Aramis whispers against his mouth and Porthos bites his lip for his trouble. But Aramis just laughs. “So pretty and adorable.”

“I will shove you out of this bed,” Porthos growls around Aramis’ laughter. 

“How could you be anything but cute? Those dimples, that smile, that boopable nose.”

“My what,” Porthos sighs out, because even though it’s not the first time he’s heard him call it that, it still leaves him utterly flabbergasted every time. Aramis rocks deep into him and drags his hands down his chest and stomach, curls his fingers around his cock and strokes once in time to the thrusts of his hips, and that’s all lovely and distracting, and really Porthos should hate that shit-eating grin he keeps sending him – but, well. Aramis has always been confident – and Porthos has always loved that about him. 

Aramis is laughing, though, perfectly satisfied with himself. “Everything about you is boopable.” 

“That’s completely untrue,” Porthos protests, and then Aramis taps his finger over his nose with an incredibly obnoxious _boop!_ and a grin. 

Porthos knows he’s nothing short of dead-pan, but that hardly stops Aramis. He then taps his fingertip against his bottom lip, down to the dip of his clavicle, his belly button, his knee. Porthos should be utterly frustrated – but instead he’s just charmed. He makes a show of rolling his eyes, though, and then rolling his hips in a vain attempt to distract Aramis away from embarrassing him and back to fucking him. 

No such luck. Aramis boops his nose again, then leans in and kisses it – deceivingly chaste. 

Aramis angles his hips a little, rocking into him, and Porthos gasps out when he finally hits his prostate. 

When he opens his eyes, Aramis is grinning at him and says, in perfect seriousness: “Boop.” 

Porthos, of course, cracks up and doesn’t stop for a good long while. Once the giggles start to ebb, he looks at Aramis again and just cracks up all over again – and soon their sex deteriorates completely when Aramis joins in. He pulls out of Porthos and just collapses against him and they stay pressed together, laughing. They’re left a squirming, giggling pile of limbs, rocking together in messy thrusts as they try to swallow down their giggles. They kiss around the laughter, messy and imprecise around all the teeth and tongue, but when they come, it’s between gasps and laughter, and they stay pressed together long after, noses bumping. 

 

**II.**  
When Aramis opens his eyes from an impromptu nap, the football game Porthos was watching earlier is gone and instead the news is playing. Aramis blinks a few times, bleary and disoriented, and twists around so his cheek isn’t pressed to Porthos’ thigh and he’s looking up at him instead. He feels sleepy and warm, resting in Porthos’ lap and wrapped up in Porthos’ oversized sweater.

“Hey,” Porthos greets, and he’s got that self-satisfied grin of his that means he did something while Aramis was sleeping. Aramis yawns and stretches, and the side of his mouth feels crusty which means he was drooling. He lifts himself up and spies the dark patch on Porthos’ sweatpants and yawns again, leaning in and nuzzling against Porthos’ jaw in apology. Porthos laughs and kisses his temple. “You’re fine,” he says before Aramis can even say it. “I need to change out of these things anyway.” 

“In a minute,” Aramis decides and settles into Porthos’ lap. He smiles at him, going for wickedly charming but likely looking more sleep-deprived than anyone else. “Who won?” 

“Barça – and don’t bother acting surprised,” Porthos says before Aramis can make a triumphant little hum. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Aramis sighs out, kissing over Porthos’ jaw and enjoying the scratch of his beard against his lips. “Hmm…” 

When he draws back, Porthos is still smiling that self-satisfied – and Aramis frowns.

“Oh no,” he says as the realization sets in. “Don’t tell me you did it again.” 

“What?” Porthos asks, innocently. 

But Aramis is already squirming in his lap, digging his hand into Porthos’ pocket and digging out his phone. 

“Aramis,” Porthos laughs in protest. 

But Aramis isn’t listening, and rolls away when Porthos makes a half-hearted grab for him. Porthos snorts, laughing louder. Aramis scuttles across the couch, all flailing legs and probably looking utterly unattractive but _sacrifices must be made_ as he fishes out his own phone and presses the speed dial to call Porthos. 

Sure enough, when Aramis’ caller ID pops up on Porthos’ phone, it’s an unattractive picture of Aramis snoring against Porthos’ leg, face scrunched up and drool running out of his half-open mouth. Aramis makes a mournful sound and ends the call, tapping in the four-digit passcode for Porthos’ phone he knows by heart and still Porthos has yet to change. 

“I’ve told you,” Aramis whines, loud enough to wake the dead, “I have to look good – what if someone else sees me calling you and then what will I do when they see a face like that?” 

Porthos snorts. “I think you look good in that picture.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Aramis sniffs, and scrolls through Porthos’ gallery until he finds the picture he sent Porthos months ago when he first realized his caller ID was an unattractive picture of a blurry-eyed Aramis fumbling around in the kitchen for some coffee. He finds the picture in question, a beautiful shot of him standing in the park, head tilted slightly, smile soft and intimate, the sun shining down on his hair. It’s _perfect_ , almost professional, prompted by Aramis begging Constance to get a good shot of him so he could save Porthos from himself. 

He switches the caller ID photo and then deletes the drooling picture for good measure, giving a scandalized sniff before he tosses the phone back to Porthos, who catches and pockets it with a small shrug. 

“You _have_ to use the picture where I’m suave and handsome, Porthos. Not me drooling and wearing your sweater.”

“I like you in my sweater,” Porthos protests, grinning.

Aramis returns to Porthos’ lap, draping his arms over his shoulders and pouting at him. Porthos doesn’t relent, just grinning at him until they both lean in to kiss each other. Aramis nibbles at his bottom lip, half in protest and half just because he likes to and he knows Porthos likes it, too.

“Hmph,” he says once they break the kiss and he presses his forehead to his. “You’re a man of too simple pleasures, my love.” 

“Maybe,” Porthos agrees, and runs his hands up underneath that sweater. 

 

**III.**  
As soon as Aramis hears the key in the lock, he bounces back onto the bed. The rose petals he has spread over the sheets shuffle around as he plants himself on the center of the bed. He squirms out of the last of his clothes and then drapes himself strategically. He tries a few poses before he settles on the classic ‘lounge on your side and tuck your hand under your chin and look sensual’. Honestly, he knows it won’t take much to get Porthos to strip down with him, but he likes to be thorough. 

He hears Porthos’ footsteps and he smiles to himself, already blushing, already squirming with expectation. The last time he’d done this had been early on and they’d had petals stuck in their hair for hours. Aramis wants to see if it can be a repeat performance. 

He realizes too late that there’s a second pair of footsteps he doesn’t recognize – but it’s too late to wrestle his way under the blankets before the door is swinging open and Porthos is saying, “Hey, you in here? I brought d’Artagnan over for – oh.” 

“Uh,” is d’Artagnan’s reply from behind Porthos’ shoulder. 

“Well hello, d’Artagnan,” Aramis chirps, as cheerfully and blasé as one can be when Porthos’ work-friend just got an eyeful of his half-hard cock and his bare ass before he burrowed under the blankets, scattering rose petals everywhere. He peeks his head out, because one never turns down a challenge, and his ass is quite fabulous so d’Artagnan should likely be flattered to get an eyeful so early on in knowing him. Porthos looks torn between cracking up and shoving d’Artagnan outside again so he can join Aramis. And d’Artagnan looks like he – well. Like he just saw a naked man and isn’t quite sure how to process the information. 

“… So I thought he’d want a drink after the long day,” Porthos plows on as if he hadn’t just walked in on Aramis trying to be romantic and he’s turning towards d’Artagnan. “This is really not what I had in mind when I said you should meet him.” 

“No,” d’Artagnan says, faintly. 

Aramis lets the blanket drop down to his waist and lounges back against the headboard, more in his element now as he flashes a winning smile at d’Artagnan. The fact that Porthos and d’Artagnan are just standing there really shouldn’t be hilarious to Aramis, and truly if he had a bone of shame in his body he’d be mortified, but instead he can only be amused. 

“Well, Porthos, my darling, you should probably take your new friend back out there so I can get some clothes on.” He lifts his eyebrows and Porthos barks out a laugh and jerks his head back towards the hallway for d’Artagnan. “I’ll be out soon and – well. Porthos, get the red wine.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Porthos agrees, grinning, and gestures for d’Artagnan to go on ahead. He glances back at Aramis before he shuts the door behind him and says, “Hold that thought for later, though.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Aramis replies with a wide grin. 

 

**IV.**  
They look at the mess of their kitchen, the charred remains of what was once a chicken sitting forlorn in its pan. 

They look at each other.

“Take-out?” Aramis asks.

“Sounds great,” Porthos agrees. 

 

**V.**  
“Fuck!” Aramis shouts and covers his nose with his hand, checking to see if there’s bleeding. “Oh – fuck!” 

“Fuck,” Porthos agrees as he squirms up from above him, hands braced on either side of the bathtub and staring at him in shock. “Shit – oh, shit. Are you okay? Are you bleeding?” 

After checking a few times and determining that, no, he wasn’t bleeding, Aramis settled for whining loudly. 

“Porthos, you’re trying to kill me! Or, worse, ruin my beautiful face!” 

Since dramatics usually means that Aramis isn’t seriously harmed – the worse injuries and insults are always when Aramis is utterly silent – Porthos breathes out a little and kisses his forehead in apology. 

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Porthos says.

“Better my face than my cock, I suppose,” Aramis whimpers, and prods at his nose a few more times just to make sure it’s not injured from Porthos’ unexpected headbutt. He curls his arms around Porthos’ shoulders and kisses him, arching up beneath him. “Go on, come on. We can still have fun, right?” 

“There’s hardly any room to do anything,” Porthos says around the kiss, and his hands stay stubbornly fixed on either side of the tub – favoring his balance over touching Aramis. Aramis pouts and Porthos kisses him, apologetically. “Come on,” he says, “Let’s go to bed and then I can make it up to you.” 

He kisses his nose and Aramis can hardly say no to that. 

They pull the plug on the bath, and on the unsuccessful bath sex, and make their way back to the bed, tumbling into the sheets despite being dripping wet. They kiss and Aramis sighs and arches against him, already more relaxed even if his nose throbs a bit in pain. 

Aramis sighs and moans at all the right places and Porthos kisses and works his way down his body. He kisses and bites over his stomach and Aramis breathes out a small, breathless laugh – and plays with his hair. Porthos tilts his chin towards the drawer. 

“Grab it for me?” he asks, kissing at his inner thighs. 

Aramis reaches out to open the drawer and pull out the lube – but his hand touches at something else, a soft velvet of a box. Aramis frowns in confusion and sits up. 

Porthos grunts in confusion when Aramis suddenly pulls away from him. Aramis squirms onto his stomach and drags himself closer to the drawer so he can get his hand properly around the box, pulling it out and—

He doesn’t even have to open it to know, because he recognizes the box—

And – oh. Oh shit. 

“Porthos?” Aramis asks, holding the little blue box and Porthos is looking like he’d just been smacked in the face. And Aramis can picture perfectly how Porthos would had thoughtlessly shoved the ring box into the drawer on the bedside table, somehow thinking that Aramis would never open that drawer and find it. Porthos looks nervous, of course he would be – and not because he doubts Aramis’ feelings, because they’ve spoken of it a few times over the last year, but— 

“This isn’t how I wanted to do this,” Porthos says, interrupting Aramis’ thoughts, and his voice sounds reedy and quiet and entirely not like him. Aramis blinks at him, utterly shocked, his breath stilling. 

But then a moment later Aramis is grinning, somewhat helplessly, just a touch hopeless. 

“Hold on,” he says, and climbs out of bed. He stands on the tips of his toes, stretching a little as he digs his hand around on the top shelf of the closet, knowing that Porthos is likely not in an appreciative mood to ogle his ass as he does this, but taking his time regardless. 

And then he comes back, holding a similarly blue velvet box and places it on Porthos’ chest, dead in the center. Porthos blinks at it, lets his chest rise and fall and Aramis isn’t sure whether his own heart has stopped beating or not. 

“Go on,” Aramis urges him when Porthos continues to stare at the box. 

Porthos fumbles a little and opens the box – and of course there’s a ring inside. It’s large, masculine, a shining gold – and there are engravings along it, smooth and ornate – not without Aramis’ flare, of course, but in a style that suits Porthos’ better: bold and daring. 

Of course he’d recognize the box he’d found in the drawer – somehow the two of them had managed to go to the exact same store without the other. Aramis opens the first box, the ring Porthos got for him. It’s smaller, slimmer, with engravings lightly etched into it, barely there but visible enough to satisfy Aramis’ need for pageantry. Porthos always did know him best. 

Aramis is blinking rapidly as he smiles, which is just as well because Porthos likely can hardly see through the tears in his eyes – but he’s grinning, too. 

“How were you going to do it?” Porthos asks.

Aramis sighs. “You ruined it all, you great brute. I was going to do a riddle game. I know how you love puzzling those things out. Something like a scavenger hunt, and at the end, there I’d be. I’d get down on one knee and tell you about how much I love and need you and can’t imagine my life without you…” Aramis actually blushes and he coughs, suddenly self-conscious at how wrapped up he’d been in the idea – how much he’d loved the idea of it, how much he’d worked to make it _perfect_ because Porthos deserved perfect and yet was going to be stuck with him. How happy he’d be to work on these clues, thinking it was just a game Aramis made up for him – and then realizing it was something else all along. He adds, half-heartedly, “Or something like that.” 

Porthos’ smile is definitely wobbly now, and perhaps a touch hysterical – Aramis knows that look well. A crushing, overwhelming happiness he’s trying to contain – hardly believing it. His hands are still wrapped up around the box, unwilling to let go.

“… What about you?” Aramis asks, once his blush has subsided. 

Porthos laughs. “Nothing like that. I was just…” He shrugs, frowns a little at himself. “I was going to bring us back to where we first met. Then I’d ask there.” 

Aramis sighs out, and shifts a bit closer to him. “And your speech? I know you had one, you poetic fool, don’t pretend you didn’t.” 

Porthos laughs again, louder this time. He rolls onto his side and reaches out with one hand to open that same drawer, drawing out a legal pad full of scribbles and marks and add-ons, and hands it wordlessly to Aramis. 

Aramis reads over the words, in utter silence, and Porthos holds his breath. 

Aramis can’t breathe, and he tears up once before he shakes his head, turning towards Porthos with a ridiculous smile. “Why would you hide it here of all places.” 

“I don’t know,” Porthos laughs. “I was working on it earlier and you came home early and I panicked so I just shoved them in there.” 

Aramis sets aside the legal pad and scoots up to him, kissing him deeply. 

When he draws back he nods towards the boxes. “Well? Put mine on.” 

“You don’t want me to ask?”

“You _know_ the answer.” 

Porthos grins, and takes up the box from Aramis’ hands, taking out the ring and grasping Aramis’ hand. He kisses his knuckles and then slips the ring onto Aramis’ finger. Then he offers the second box, and Aramis does the same for him. 

Porthos spends a long time just looking at their hands, his expression soft. Aramis touches his cheek, brushes his thumb gently over his cheekbone – and just looks at him, wanting to commit this to memory, wanting to remember it forever. 

“… I still want that scavenger hunt, though,” Porthos admits. “It sounds like fun.”

Aramis laughs and kisses him silent.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on my [tumblr](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/) for whatever reason!


End file.
